


Trials of the heart

by katiebuttercup



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, regencylock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2018-12-20 16:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11924634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiebuttercup/pseuds/katiebuttercup
Summary: She's doing this for Mary, she tells herself





	1. Chapter 1

BBC owns everything 

She's doing this for Mary. 

Molly keeps that thought firmly at the forefront of her mind as she walks alongside the silent, intimidating Sherlock Holmes.

Several paces ahead, her cousin Mary walks beside John Watson. Despite keeping the aquired distance between them the connection between the pair is undeniable. 

It'll be over soon, Molly counsels herself, she's sure Mr Watson will soon offer marriage and then Molly will be free to return to her books once society deemed it acceptable for the couple to be alone. 

For now, she just has to endure her silent companion and try not to be too much of an imposition. 

Mr Holmes had offered her his arm at the beginning of the walk once they had come to a copse. An ordinary young woman would have taken the offer immediately but Molly walked daily and hsd stepped over the intrusion with ease. 

The cool, forbidding look on Sherlock's face wavered in the face of Molly's expertise but quickly his expression frosted over once more. 

They had spoken only a handful of words in the almost hours walk. She had witnessed Sherlock's charm and ease of nature when he was with his companion, Mr Watson or with his close friends but to everyone else he maintained an icy, cold demeanour that even the hardiest person wilted before. 

She starts when Sherlock's hand rests on her elbow, stopping her, she looks at him askance. 

"My friend plans to propose to Miss Morstan, perhaps a moment of privacy is required."

Molly shifts on the spot, feeling the weight of uncomfortableness since she no longer had the excuse of admiring the view as she walked. 

"When do you plan on marrying Miss Hooper? Surely you are entering spinsterhood very soon,"

A young lady of consequence would have been aghast at being asked such a question but Molly was a veteran of such conversations with Mr Holmes swallowed down the shard of ice that suddenly stabbed into her heart. Mr Holmes had not said anything that others had not said-albeit much more discreetly. 

"I'm afraid I have already crossed that threshold," 

She looks at a particularly pretty rose bush and so misses the look that flashes over Sherlock's handsome face. 

"What shall you do when Mr Morstan dies?" Sherlock asks. 

"My uncle is a very kind man-he has made preparations for me. A little cottage on the Morstan estate. I shall be happy in my little house with my books,"

Sherlock makes an unflattering noise at the back of his throat. 

"So any hopes for romance is restricted to your book collection?"

"I'm afraid my library has few books on the subject of romance"

Molly snaps her mouth shut, horror creeping up her throat. Her uncle, a kind man who after his brother's fashion had seen Molly's eagerness for learning and had let her have free reign of the library. What most people didn't know was that most of those books were science in nature. 

Mr Mortstan believed that education should not be restricted to one gender. However he was rich enough to be allowed his eccentricities. Molly was simply a dependent. If Mr Holmes found that her collection was not suitable for a young woman of her station she could be in great trouble. 

"I observed you reading earlier in the day, you left your book in your chair,"

As if drawn from her deepest nightmares, Sherlock drew out her favourite anatomy book, wedged into a pink cover to disguise its contents. 

"Mr. Holmes..." there is a lump in her throat.

"Tell me do you understand what is in this book?"

She could lie, tell him she had been merely curious and had looked at the pictures but Mr Holmes had the uncanny ability to see through lies with almost terrifying accuracy.

"Yes," Molly says, "please Mr Holmes I ask that you do not reveal what you have discovered!"

Sherlock stares at her as if she had grown another head, "why should I tell anyone? What use would that be?"

Molly struggles to answer but Sherlock brusquely cuts off a sentence she doesn't know how to finish. 

"How far are you in?" He states at the book, testing its thickness. 

"A couple of chapters," Molly admits. 

Sherlock lets out a huff of air. She cant tell whether he is pleased or angered. Suddenly he pushes the book back into Molly's hand. 

"I shall call on you when you have finished five chapters," he motions to John and Mary talking happily as they trotted back to their friends. 

"I'm sure I shall be pressed into wedding preparations and shall be able to take a turn with you in your garden" he looks at her, long and considering. It makes a blush creep along the back of her neck. 

"You would not make a good spinster," Sherlock says archly, looking down his nose at her. 

"I would not set your heart upon it," 

Before Molly could come up with a reply, unsure whether she should be affronted by such a remark, Mary had taken her hand talking a mile a minute. The two gentlemen walking sedately behind. Molly made a point of not looking at Mr Holmes.


	2. Chapter 2

Night had found Molly and Mary conversing in hushed excitable whispers as the household settled in for the night. 

John's proposal had been accepted and permission gladly and lovingly given by Mary's father plummeting the household into a flurry of preparation. 

Molly had even teased her cousin on her crestfallen expression when the gentlemen took their leave reminding her that Mr Watson promised to call upon them tomorrow. From the look on Mary's face it might as well have been a month. 

"Mrs Mary Watson," Mary says, "I think it suits don't you?"

"It's perfect," Molly assures her. Mary is quiet so Molly lets her mind wander until her cousin says;

"What will you do when I'm married?"

"Come and visit you on your lovely new estate," Molly jokes but the smile vanishes when her cousin's expression remains troubled.

"You know what I will do, I will take occupancy of the charming little cottage and live out my days next to a roaring fire with Toby the cat and my books. I'll be as merry as the day is long"

"All by yourself?"

"Of course by myself, there's hardly room for another person in that cottage. That's why I plan to visit you often so that I may sit in your marvellous new parlour and be jealous."

Mary was playing with the sheet in her hand, "but don't you want to get married? Or fall in love?"

"I'm rather afraid that has past me by," Molly says with the ease of repetition. 

"I'm afraid I must embrace my life as a spinster and dote on all the marvellous children you and John will have. I shall let them have sweets before dinner and rarely tell them off!" Molly's eyes flash with mirth at the image but Mary still looks troubled. 

"you are not all that old and you are very pretty..."

"To quote our good friend Mr Holmes I am barely tolerable, especially for him,"

"Do you wish to be tolerable in Mr Holmes eyes?"

"Gosh no! I believe Mr Holmes has an exacting profile for his wife. I am far to plain and unworldly. Although I believe Mr Holmes likes the idea of my becoming a spinster less then you,"

Mary had made no effort to hide her frustration with her cousin when she began to talk of spinsterhood. Molly was made for so much more. She had so much love to give.

"Mr Holmes doesn't want you to be a spinster?"

"I believe he thinks I should be bad at it," Molly says airily. "Although whether I should be as bad at that as I am at dancing he did not mention,"

Mary grimaced at the reminder of Molly's clumsiness at the last ball. She wasn't a born dancer, but as ever Molly had laughed it off as was her good nature. 

Mary looked back over the earlier meeting with her beloved and Mr Holmes's. Most of it had been a blur of excitement but she was sure Mr Holmes paid special attention to Molly. Or at least his remarks to and about Molly had aired on the side of polite rather than the rather cutting deductions Mary had witnessed him level at other people. 

"Was it terribly bad walking with Mr Holmes?" Mary asked guilty.

"No, we barely spoke and he..." Molly cleared her throat as if reconsidering what she was going to say.

"He was perfectly pleasant to me, although I believe it was for his friends benefit than mine,"

Mary grinned, "they are an unusual pair but they work together so well. It proves that Mr Holmes may have tender feelings after all if he had maintained such a friendship."

"perhaps, but I hope that whoever becomes Mrs Sherlock Holmes has a sturdy constitution," Molly says, "he's ever so perculiar. Not in a bad way," Molly hastens to add. She looks sideways at her cousin, "and should he remain a bachelor I am sure he would not come under such scrutiny as I am."

"I just wish for your happiness," Mary persists. "Can you not imagine your wedding?"

"Only the deepest of loves will persuade me to matrimony. And that is why I shall live an old maid spoiling your children rotten with none of the consequences."

Molly kisses the bridge of Mary's nose. "Now hush you need your beauty sleep to see your fiancé tomorrow." With that Molly turns, falling asleep almost instantly.

It takes Mary longer to drop off, turning the word fiancé over in her head. It sounds right. It sounds perfect. 

She looks over at her cousin, such a strange but lovely creature. She thinks of Sherlock Holmes's handsome face and cutting words and thinks that perhaps there is something she can work with. Sherlock had been impressed with her knowledge, Mary knew, so perhaps she only needed a little expert help. 

And who better than her fiancé. The man who knew Sherlock Holmes best? 

The wedding would be months away but now there was something to occupy her mind. Yes, love would tempt Molly into matrimony and Sherlock would be the one to do it.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been said that once Molly Hooper was engrossed in a book it was practically impossible to extract her from it. Sherlock had been privy to this information by his own eyes more than once. 

Where other young women wore jewellery and the latest silks Miss Hooper read books. 

There wasn't a single instance of his association with Miss Hooper where at first he was not greeted by her head engrossed in a novel. 

So when the road broadens he is not surprised to see Miss Hooper walking on the other side of the road, head in book, completely ignorant of her surroundings. 

He takes note of the stained hem of her dress, the colour in her cheeks from her walk and the strands of hair framing her face and knows he should be horrified, there is a part of him that is-but mostly he is intrigued. 

Molly Hooper is completely unremarkable, her looks tolerable and her manners suitable. But her mind. 

There is a chance however small that her mind may outmatch her sex. 

He stops in her path, testing whether she would sense his presence. She did but her shoulder glanced off of his chest and suddenly he encountered big brown eyes.

"Oh Mr Holmes, I apologise," 

"Did you read the chapters I assigned to you?" Sherlock asks, cutting to the chase as ever. He had little use for social convention and had a feeling Miss Hooper felt the same.

"No. I only read the next three. Mary needed help with her wedding plans,"

Sherlock dismissed her excuse with a curt hand gesture.

"Nonesense, what use is marriage frippery next to learning?"

Molly's eyes hardened, "it may not be important to you and I Mr. Holmes but it means a lot to Mary and I would wager, John. Her happiness comes first."

"Do you do this often?"'Sherlock asks, "put others happiness before your own?"

"Yes. Do you?"

"Never," Sherlock says coldly. 

Molly hums, she presses the book to her chest and starts to walk. Sherlock, despite himself falls in step with her. 

"I have upset you,"

"No!" There is laughter in her tone and it rankles him. He is not used to having his life scrutinised. He's not used to being found wanting in any area. He is better than most people, smarter. 

"Why did you come to Applefield if not to support your friend?" Molly asks. That question had haunted him for days. It was not as clear cut as he would like.

"I came for facilitate John's courtship of Miss Morstan." 

It was true but there was something nagging at the back of his mind, something that refused to come to light despite his many attempts. For the first time his mind was working against him. 

"Because he is your friend," Molly says as if that proved her point.

"Social convention dictates..."

"Of which you take great pleasure in flouting," Molly interjects. Sherlock stops, Molly sensing she had lost her walking partner stops too. 

"You are not afraid of me?"

"Why should I be afraid of you?" 

"Many people are- they find me cruel,"

"Well that I can't argue," Molly says. Something in Sherlock's chest hurts when she says it.

"You think me cruel?"

"I think that your deductions are more important to you then the feelings of other people. Or your friends. You certainly felt no compunction on informing me of my many faults. In front of people and we are barely acquainted with one another,"

The ache in his chest intensifies unpleasantly. 

"I should not have spoken such. I did apologise." 

"You did," Molly concedes. 

"I did not mean to hurt you," Sherlock says, "my deductions, I cannot fully explain but it is like a reflex. I cannot help but notice and once I notice I cannot help but give it voice. However that night I was..." 

He thinks of The Woman. How much of his diatribe against Miss Hooper had been because the Woman had opened something dangerously close to sentiment in him. All of his armour lying at his feet, useless. And he has lashed out, eager to hurt someone like he had been hurt. Unfortunately it had been Miss Hooper who had felt his wrath. 

It hadn't helped that she had obviously been enjoying the company of the dashing, dangerous James Moriarty. His hand on Miss Hooper's arm, her lovely smile aimed solely on him had given him the fuel to the fire of his best weapon. His words. 

"You did not say anything that wasn't true," Molly says, "anything others have not said behind my back. I should thank you for being brave enough to say it to my face."

"No!" Sherlock takes a step so he's right in front of her. She stares up at him, eyes bright and clear. Other women would be coy or coquettish but Molly uses none of her feminine wiles that Sherlock despises. She's just Molly.

"I was wrong to say those things. And I'm sorry,"

Apologies were as alien to him as was most things his fellow men take pleasure in. It's difficult but he knows he cannot take another step with Miss Hooper thinking he felt anything but the highest regard of her. 

It is sadly lacking in flair but it is meaningful, and Molly seems to understand.

"Thank you," 

It is a clear indicator that he should move, that he should step aside and they could continue their walk but Sherlock found himself rooted to the spot. 

"Miss Hooper...I.."

"Molly! There you are I thought you were just taking a short stroll," Miss Morstan's voice cut through the spell and Sherlock reluctanly took a step back, suddenly aware that he was standing much to close to Miss Hooper.

"I was," Molly was enviably calm, Sherlock's skin felt too hot and too tight over his bones. 

"I bumped into Mr Holmes and he and I were discussing the ball at the Chastley house,"

Mary was looking at him, her gaze as direct as her cousins and he realised she too remembered the foul words spoken there. 

"Were you?" 

Sherlock had never taken much stock of the phrase "hell hath no fury like a woman scorned m," but the look on Mary's face seemed apt. She was angry on her cousin's behalf. 

"Did you need me for something?" Molly says smoothly, drawing Mary's ire. 

"Yes! Mother is looking at gowns and they are all hideous. Please come and talk to her, she'll listen to you!"

Sherlock was sure only he was privy to the sigh that emerged from Miss Hooper's throat. But she acquiesced. As ever.

Sherlock was glad for the interruption he had found himself in danger, a danger unlike confronting a criminal in a back street. He wasn't sure how he would fare had the conversation progressed much further. Somehow his instinctual urge to speak without thinking was chronic in front of Miss Hooper and Sherlock was increasingly finding the need to censor himself in her company else he say something he may could not take back. 

Or that he wouldn't want to take back. 

Once he was back at Baker Street he could forget this nonesense. He simply needed his routine. A case. Then all would return to normal.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock prowls the long hallway of his best friend's new home. Behind the door bright, insipid conversation washes over him. 

He focuses inward, trawling through his memories  
analysing them as he would at a crime scene 

Molly Hooper

Not since Irene Adler had a woman captured him so effortlessly, although in almost a polar opposite way.  
J  
There was little remarkable about Miss Hooper, next to her cousin she is a plain, awkward figure. At a ball it would be easy to over look her. In her dress, manner or beauty she is simply irrelevant. 

And yet 

And yet 

He cannot stop thinking about her.

Her mind was sharp and sound, lacking only the tools kept from her by society's dull convention. 

He found himself eager to speak to her, deigning to engage in mind numbing small talk just to spend more time in her presence.

His body and mind were betraying him. A man of evidence and science laid low by simple chemistry. By feelings that were fleeting and changeable.

How did he know that in a fortnight he would not forget Miss Hooper as he had forgotten other women? What could be possibly measure to save him from this mental torment? 

There was nothing useful. 

He suspected John's answer should he seek his friend's advice and felt relieved that John was busy with his wedding. 

John's efforts to humanise him in the press while overlooking many of the fine scientific theory was a thorn in Sherlock's side. What did he care if people liked him or not? Found him callous or cold or not? The Work was what mattered. Deducing correctly.

He hadn't seen Molly in a week, the time had been spent on a quick yet exciting case that had diverted him for a time but soon enough Miss Hooper had invaded his thoughts and his regular diversions were not quite up to the task. 

The rest of the time Sherlock had spent tending to John's needs for the wedding, alternatively cross and relieved when his path didn't cross with Miss Hooper. He had seen her in town, dressed simply and with her nose in a book as ever. She expertly moved around people, ignoring the pitying glances thrown her way and chatter behind fans. 

He had stood stock still at the sight of her. 

It was happening at unfortunately regular intervals.

By the wedding Sherlock would come to his conclusion and come up with a course of action. A deadline often sharpened his senses. 

Turning on his heel, Sherlock strode out of the house, eating up the grounds with long powerful strides. He'd have to get used to moderating his stride if he were to call on Miss Hooper. He doesn't find the idea as distasteful as he had once imagined. He pats the square shape in his pocket. He'll deliver it today and arrange his experiments in response to his gift. 

 

Molly pauses as she sees a wrapped package on her favourite seat. She picks it up gingerly, checking the tag in case it was a present for Mary's wedding. However her name was written neatly on the tag. 

Molly carefully opened her present, gasping at the beautifully embossed journal decorated in rose print. She opens the journal, or creaks beautifully.

In the margin a piece of paper is wedged. She extracts it and is no less surprised by its content

Miss Hooper,  
I happened upon this journal in Town and noted that you had many questions about your anatomy book. I thought you may write down your deductions and thoughts in this journal. I, too find writing helps me to analyse my thoughts on a case. I hope this is useful to you  
W.S.S.Holmes


	5. Chapter 5

“Molly, may I have a word?” Mr Morstan asks his niece. Molly pauses for a moment and then inclined her head in acquiesce. 

Mr Morstan shuts the study door once Molly took occupation of a seat. He has no desire for them to be overheard. 

“Molly, it has been mentioned that you have had correspondence with Mr. Holmes”

Molly blinks but does not betray any other emotion. 

“Yes, he has helped me greatly in broadening my education. He has recommended many books..”

“Molly may I see these correspondence?” It wasn’t in Mr Morstan’s character to interrupt a young lady, especially Molly whom he considered as his own daughter. Molly stands and leaves. She returns later with a wedge of letters. She hands them to her uncle and resumes her seat.

Mr Morstan flips through each letter, they were short and to the point. He was fairly certain he has written more intimate letters to his tailor. 

Much of the subject matter was not appropriate for a young lady-filled as it was with science and deductions. Mr Holmes briefly asked after Molly’s health, gave a quick sketch of his own and then the bulk of the letters were full of science. 

Mr Morstan found himself disappointed. He did not deny that he had hoped that Mr Holmes would have changed Molly’s mind about marriage, but although Mr Holmes had been uncommonly kind to his neice and Molly spoke of him in the highest regard it was hardly the beginning of a courtship. 

Of course society would not be happy with such innocence and would come to their own conclusions.

“Mr Holmes has sent you gifts,” Mr Morstan says, gathering his courage. He disliked poking in to the lives of his young people, especially Molly who was so clever and tender. 

“Yes,” Molly says, “I was assisting him in an experiment and foolishly left my gloves on the table while I was handing him a beaker. Unfortunately there was s spillage on the table I did not see and it soaked through my gloves leaving a terrible stain. Mr Holmes sent me some gloves as compensation even though it was my fault.”

Mr Morstan hands the stack of letters back to his neice.

“Molly I know you have set your heart on living out your days in solitude but Mr Holmes...”

“Mr Holmes sees me as nothing but a student. I acknowledged some skill in an area where we overlap and so he took pains to help me in the areas I was deficient.”

“Yes but the number of correspondence and it’s regularity..” mr Morstan says, “you must be careful Molly, people will not see it as you do.”

Molly drew herself up, “Mr Holmes is a declared bachelor, many times he has spoken about his distaste of marriage, both to me and to society. I doubt there is anyone who believes Mr Holmes could be tempted into matrimony. Less still any who would ever believe I would be the one to do so. There was a woman once but I believe she has hardened his heart irrevocably.”

Molly smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes, “if you wish me to return Mr Holmes’ correspondence and to cease to write to him I shall. But...with Mary marrying I don’t have any other friends. I...I know Mr Holmes is a strange man but he is a very good friend to me.”

Mr Morstan married for love. He was overjoyed that his beloved Mary had also found happiness in love. His old heart wished the same for his neice. And for Mr Holmes. The idea of parting these two young people was unthinkable despite the fact that he had been pressed into doing just that today. 

No, maybe romance was too much to hope for Molly and Mr Holmes but he could hope. 

He hands the letters back, “I should like you to continue to write to Mr Holmes. At the very least you have made him a much more tolerable presence at dinner.” 

This time Molly’s smile is genuine. “Thank you uncle,” 

Mr Morstan dismisses his neice. He had been called a hopeless romantic by his lovely wife whom he had been parted from far too soon. Old age had done little to harden him. No, there was always a chance. Even for people as stubborn as Molly and Mr Holmes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was all going so well

NB it wouldn’t be a regency fic without the obigatory rip off the proposal scene from p&p

Mr Morstan stands, discarding his paper at the sight of his niece, uncharacteristically affected. Molly was a calm even tempered thing but the Molly standing before him was a tempestuous creature. She stalks up and down the parlour clenching and unclenching her fists.

“Molly,” Mr Morstan ventures, gently, “what ever is the matter?” 

Molly chews her lip, obviously trying to order her thoughts until finally she blurts out. 

“Mr Holmes proposed,” She says it as if the gentleman in question had offered her a dead snake. 

“And that has displeased you?” Mr Morstan asks, trying to keep up with his niece’s troubled thoughts. He had hoped that the evident friendship between them would spark into marriage. Had been tentatively assured of the fact but now...

“Yes!” Mollys outburst was as uncustomary as her pacing. “He said—“ Molly takes a fortifying breath. 

“He indicated that since Doctor Watson had entered matrimony and had apparently come out unscathed he decided to follow suit. And then!” Molly pauses then begins again when she has her control back in order, “he said I would be a suitable replacement and since I was barely tolerable and that my features were hardly note worthy that I should take his offer since it would be unlikely I would get any others””

Oh dear.

Sherlock Holmes had been the topic of conversation lately since Doctor Watson had met Mary. It was well known that Doctor Watson and Sherlock Holmes were a matched set and how Mr Watson had been a tempering force for the detective. 

Now mr Holmes was on his own and had apparently fallen back on bad habits. 

Mr Morstan felt that he was an even minded fellow but Molly was as close to him as Mary and the idea that Mr Holmes had upset her made him angrier than he could remember. 

“What makes it worse it isn’t as if Mr Holmes is wrong. He is simply speaking the truth,”

Mr Morstan took his neice by her shoulders, 

“You are a fine woman, Molly, gifted and clever. You must not let this smother your spirit. I am proud to call you daughter”

Molly’s mouth fell open, and Mr Morstan realises he has never verbalised such a thought before. But his heart warmed when Molly smiled, 

“Thank you uncle, I know that my, quirks, are queer to you and others,” Molly says heartfelt. “But I have always been greatful to you for taking me in,”

“What is mine is yours and Mary’s,” Mr Morstan intones. He kisses Molly on the forehead. 

“I shall take myself to bed” Molly’s voice has only the slightest quiver, trying to inject humour into her voice, “It’ll all be better in the morning. I may even be able to laugh at such a ludicrous situation,” 

She gives her uncle a smile and leaves. 

*

“What the devil is wrong with you?” 

Sherlock doesn’t look up even as his best friend towers over him as he lounges in his chair. It must be quite the novelty for Watson to be taller than someone. The snide remark, even in his mind made him smile. 

“Holmes!” 

Sherlock lets out an annoyed breath and meets his friends thunderous expression. 

“What tedious infraction have I trespassed upon this time?”

“Molly-miss Hopper! Did you propose to that poor girl and then insult her?”

“She rejected me!” Sherlock snarls, “I made a perfectly logical deduction and she reacted like-like a woman!”

“She is a woman you fool!” John yells, “you have detailed Miss Hooper’s considerable talents-at length I might add-and when it counts you insult her?”

“Love may have blinded you, Watson but I rely on science, deduction. Miss Hooper’s brain is first rate and as far as looks are concerned she is acceptable but she’s no Irene Adler”

John’s breath comes out as a harsh exhale. “That is beneath you, Holmes.”

“It is nothing but the truth,” Sherlock says sullenly. 

“Perhaps,” John concedes. “Miss Adler is certainly unique but Miss Hooper is very pretty—“

“I’m sure Mary will be over the moon to hear you expound on Miss Hooper’s beauty,” Sherlock sneers bitterly. 

John clenches his jaw. “You do not deserve such a fine, intelligent woman like Miss Hooper, I am glad that she has refused you so that she may escape these dark moods that make you strike out like this.” 

Without another word his best friend turns and walks away without a backward glance. Sherlock takes the pillow and hurls it at the door and then when he cannot bear to be still he stalks to the fireplace, shoving everything off the mantle. 

Why was everything changing?

Why did John have to marry and change what had been a productive and enriching friendship? When had the game become not enough for Watson?

Why did Miss Hooper have to be so damnedly intelligent and engaging?

Why was it his fault? Surely the blame lay with Miss Hooper. He had followed protocol exactly and yet Miss Hooper had refused him. Him? The son of a peer, and what was she? Some cast off from some minor family. 

No. The fault was with her, and if she was determined to throw away good marriage proposals for the lonely life of a spinster. Well. Sherlock would be happy to leave her to her fate.


End file.
